What I found in the cave,(he said, lying in the grass on the hillside, breathing hard, the taste of vomit sour in his mouth, his arms and legs sore from the pumping run down the hillside)What I found in the cave,(he said, and she held his hand nervously, her fingers not sure of how hard to squeeze, whether to caress)What I found in the cave,(he said, and was glad that she hadn’t come with him, hadn’t been there for what he’d seen and heard)What I found in the cave was the body of my first girlfriend. Her skeleton, polished to a gleam and laid out carefully on the floor. Her red hair in a long plait, brushed out and brittle, circled over her small skull like a halo.He’d laid her out before my mother, and placed her fingernails at the exact tips of her fingerbones. The floor was dirty and littered with rags and trash. It was dark and it stank of shit, there were piles of shit here and there.The places where my brothers had slept had been torn apart. My brother Bradley, his nook was caved in. I moved some of the rocks, but I didn’t find him under there.Benny was gone. Craig was gone. Ed, Frankie, and George were gone. Even Davey was gone. All the parts of the cave that made it home were gone, except for my mother, who was rusted and sat askew on the uneven floor. One of her feet had rusted through, and her generator had run dry, and she was silent and dry, with a humus-paste of leaves and guano and gunk sliming her basket.I went down to the cave where my father spoke to us, and I found that I—I—I found that I couldn’t see in the dark anymore. I’d never had a moment’s pause in the halls of my father, but now I walked falteringly, the sounds of my footsteps not like the steps of a son of the mountain at all. I heard them echo back and they sounded like an outsider, and I fell twice and hurt my head, here—(he touched the goose egg he’d raised on his forehead)and I got dizzy, and then I was in the pool, but it didn’t sound right and I couldn’t hear it right, and I got my clothes off and then I stood there with them in my arms—(his hand came back bloody and he wiped it absently on the grass and Mimi took hold of it)Because. If I put them down. It was dark. And I’d never find them again. So I bundled them all up and carried them over my head and I waded in and the water had never been so cold and had never felt so oily and there was a smell to it, a stagnant smell.I waded out and I stood and I shivered and I whispered, “Father?” and I listened.I heard the sound of the water I’d disturbed, lapping around my ears and up on the shore. I smelled the sewage and oil smell, but none of the habitual smells of my father: Clean water, coalface, sulfur, grass, and lime.I picked my way out of the water again and I walked to the shore, and it was too dark to put on my clothes, so I carried them under one arm and felt my way back to the summer cave and leaned against my mother and waited to drip dry. I’d stepped in something soft that squished and smelled between my mother and my father, and I didn’t want to put on my socks until I’d wiped it off, but I couldn’t bring myself to wipe it on the cave floor.Marci’s eye sockets looked up at the ceiling. She’d been laid out with so much care, I couldn’t believe that Davey had had anything to do with it. I thought that Benny must be around somewhere, looking in, taking care.I closed my eyes so that I wasn’t looking into the terrible, recriminating stare, and I leaned my head up against my mother, and I breathed until the stink got to me and then I pried myself upright and walked out of the cave. I stopped and stood in the mouth of the cave and listened as hard as I could, but my father wasn’t speaking. And the smell was getting to me.
What I found in the cave,
(he said, lying in the grass on the hillside, breathing hard, the taste of vomit sour in his mouth, his arms and legs sore from the pumping run down the hillside)
What I found in the cave,
(he said, and she held his hand nervously, her fingers not sure of how hard to squeeze, whether to caress)
What I found in the cave,
(he said, and was glad that she hadn’t come with him, hadn’t been there for what he’d seen and heard)
What I found in the cave was the body of my first girlfriend. Her skeleton, polished to a gleam and laid out carefully on the floor. Her red hair in a long plait, brushed out and brittle, circled over her small skull like a halo.
He’d laid her out before my mother, and placed her fingernails at the exact tips of her fingerbones. The floor was dirty and littered with rags and trash. It was dark and it stank of shit, there were piles of shit here and there.
The places where my brothers had slept had been torn apart. My brother Bradley, his nook was caved in. I moved some of the rocks, but I didn’t find him under there.
Benny was gone. Craig was gone. Ed, Frankie, and George were gone. Even Davey was gone. All the parts of the cave that made it home were gone, except for my mother, who was rusted and sat askew on the uneven floor. One of her feet had rusted through, and her generator had run dry, and she was silent and dry, with a humus-paste of leaves and guano and gunk sliming her basket.
I went down to the cave where my father spoke to us, and I found that I—I—
I found that I couldn’t see in the dark anymore. I’d never had a moment’s pause in the halls of my father, but now I walked falteringly, the sounds of my footsteps not like the steps of a son of the mountain at all. I heard them echo back and they sounded like an outsider, and I fell twice and hurt my head, here—
(he touched the goose egg he’d raised on his forehead)
and I got dizzy, and then I was in the pool, but it didn’t sound right and I couldn’t hear it right, and I got my clothes off and then I stood there with them in my arms—
(his hand came back bloody and he wiped it absently on the grass and Mimi took hold of it)
Because. If I put them down. It was dark. And I’d never find them again. So I bundled them all up and carried them over my head and I waded in and the water had never been so cold and had never felt so oily and there was a smell to it, a stagnant smell.
I waded out and I stood and I shivered and I whispered, “Father?” and I listened.
I heard the sound of the water I’d disturbed, lapping around my ears and up on the shore. I smelled the sewage and oil smell, but none of the habitual smells of my father: Clean water, coalface, sulfur, grass, and lime.
I picked my way out of the water again and I walked to the shore, and it was too dark to put on my clothes, so I carried them under one arm and felt my way back to the summer cave and leaned against my mother and waited to drip dry. I’d stepped in something soft that squished and smelled between my mother and my father, and I didn’t want to put on my socks until I’d wiped it off, but I couldn’t bring myself to wipe it on the cave floor.
Marci’s eye sockets looked up at the ceiling. She’d been laid out with so much care, I couldn’t believe that Davey had had anything to do with it. I thought that Benny must be around somewhere, looking in, taking care.
I closed my eyes so that I wasn’t looking into the terrible, recriminating stare, and I leaned my head up against my mother, and I breathed until the stink got to me and then I pried myself upright and walked out of the cave. I stopped and stood in the mouth of the cave and listened as hard as I could, but my father wasn’t speaking. And the smell was getting to me.